


All good dogs...

by NovaTheBomb



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: It is Resident Evil tho so I’m not THAT sorry, Like seriously graphic descriptions of gore and violence, Sorry guys the dogs die, Zombies, be warned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2020-12-27 18:03:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21122990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NovaTheBomb/pseuds/NovaTheBomb
Summary: Kimber Holt has seen some shit.An ex-military working dog handler, and now K-9 handler with Raccoon City Police Department, she thought she’d seen it all.Surprising absolutely none of us, she was wrong.





	1. That’s rough, buddy

**Author's Note:**

> First fic on AO3 eyyy

The stench was the first thing that greeted them as they made their way from the parking garage towards the kennels.

Normally the Raccoon City Police Department’s K-9 unit prided themselves on the cleanliness of their kennels and the health of their canine companions, and while there was always somewhat of a smell associated with the keeping of animals, this was on a whole different level.

“Whoa,” noted one of the men, covering his nose and mouth with a hand. “Who died?”

“Sure that’s not just you?” shot back another, earning a round of laughs from their companions and a deeper scowl from the man in question.

“Shut up, Jackson. Whatever that is, it ain’t natural.”

They quickly found out just how true those words were. The inside of the kennel was in absolute disarray, from the rushing of personnel this way and that to the splatters of something-maybe-blood on the floor to the sounds of the animals absolutely losing their minds over it all.

“What the hell is going on?” demanded the night shift lead, a grizzled old sergeant with an expression just as dour as his sense of humor. A panicked young officer was the first unfortunate soul to catch the man’s attention, face as pale as a corpse.

“I-it’s one of the dogs, sergeant,” he stuttered, unhelpfully, wringing his hands hard enough that the skin appeared almost white. “It just went crazy-”

“Dogs don’t just go crazy,” the sergeant retorted, puffing up like a bird in all of its angry glory. “Give me details!”

“Sarge, this way!” Further down the hall was one of the unit’s elder members, face drawn with stress and a bloody rag held to one arm. “We answered a call about an hour ago, a guy tweaking on some sort of drug or something. Had to set one of the dogs on him before we could take him down, brought him back to one of the cells, but since then the dog has been completely out of control. Best we can assume is he ingested some of whatever drug the guy was on when he drew blood.”

“He attack you?” the sergeant questioned, eyeing the bloody cloth on his arm.

“Yeah, he… he’s been snapping at everyone. Even the other dogs. Drew blood on one of ‘em, just before we threw him into quarantine.”

“Where’s the vet?”

“Not answering his phone,” came another voice, this time from a woman. Unlike the other man, she seemed to be unharmed. “I’ve been trying for the past twenty.”

The dogs assigned to the RPD were considered a priority for good reason, so it was almost unheard of to be unable to get a hold of the veterinarian in charge of their care.

“Keep trying,” the sergeant grumbled, heading back towards the separated kennels where they kept the quarantined animals. It wasn’t hard to figure out where all of the ruckus was coming from, even from several rooms away. The dog in question repeatedly threw itself at the bars of the cage that contained it, snarling and spraying a thick mixture of frothy spittle and blood with every snap of its jaws. Its coat appeared to almost shine, either with blood or something else, he couldn’t tell.

It didn’t look like the effects of any drug he’d ever heard of. The closest thing he could even begin to compare it to was rabies, but that was impossible; every one of their animals was meticulously vaccinated and their health records reviewed periodically. There was no way they’d have allowed a lapse in vaccinations.

As he was mulling over these thoughts, a loud commotion from the other room drew his attention away from the seemingly rabid beast.

—————

“Ah, shit!”

The woman that had been furiously dialing the veterinarian cursed under her breath as she slammed the phone back down on its receiver, getting nothing but a dial tone for the fourth time. The ceaseless cacophony of animal howling was giving her a raging headache. It was the end of her shift and she wanted nothing more than to just go home to a nice, soft bed, but of course shit would hit the fan just before changeover.

“Holt, get over here!”

Turning from the phone, she spotted one of her companions, Stuart, crouching by the kennels. He was peering into the one that held Brig, the dog that had been snapped at by Tyson’s raving wild beast.

“What’s up?” she questioned, leaning over his shoulder to get a better look. The poor girl was whining and panting, holed up in the back of her kennel as far away from them as she could get. Stuart reached for the flashlight on his belt, shining it into the dark metal cage. A low growl sounded from Brig, blood-red eyes shining in the light and a thick glob of saliva dripping from bared teeth.

“Fuck,” Holt cursed under her breath, again. “We’ve gotta move her to quarantine.”

“I’ll grab the stick,” said Stuart, tucking the flashlight back into its holster and standing. The ‘stick’ was what they called the capture noose, a loop of cord on the end of a long pole that they used to capture an unruly dog without fear of being bit. While he went to do that, Holt slid on her protective gloves - just a precaution, but she’d seen the damage a dog’s bite could do.

“Alright, ready?” Stuart asked as he returned, device in hand.

“Yeah,” Holt responded, reaching for the cage’s bolt. “On three. One, two…”

The metal squealed as it swung open, just enough for the stick to reach through, but neither of them were expecting for the dog within to lunge directly towards the door of the cage. Instinctively Holt tried to slam the door shut but the pole of the capture noose was in the way, causing it to bounce back towards her. The split second of frozen shock for the police officers was just enough time to allow Brig to snap at Holt’s hands, wicked teeth and strong jaws catching the closest one within their iron-like grip.

“Son of a bitch!” Holt shouted, trying to yank her hand back. When that didn’t work, she used her captured hand to get a good grip on the dog’s lower jaw as it crushed her fingers, putting all of her weight into an attempt to bring its head to the ground. It was a struggle but finally she was able to achieve her goal, holding the beast in place with a knee on its neck as she pried its mouth open to free her aching hand.

“Get back!” Stuart shouted, whipping the cord loop towards Brig’s head as Holt scrambled back on her heels and hands like some sort of deformed crab. Luckily this time the noose made its mark, and the dog was successfully caught.

“You alright?” Stuart questioned, muscles straining as he fought against the thrashing animal.

“Yeah,” Holt responded breathlessly, peeling away the slobber-soaked glove. There were clear indents where the dog’s teeth had grabbed her, but thanks to the padded gloves they hadn’t broken skin anywhere that she could see. It would leave one hell of a bruise, though, if the soreness was anything to go by.

Together they managed to escort the canine to the quarantine cages in the back without further incident, despite how she resisted.

“What the fuck,” Holt grumbled between clenched teeth as she stared at the now two rabid animals, lunging and snapping at the bars of their cages with no restraint. She’d never seen anything like this, not even in her time as a working dog handler in the military.

“I want that vet here,” the sergeant demanded with a growl, arms crossed as he watched both of the animals. “I don’t care if you use a goddamn police escort. Get him here, NOW.”


	2. It gets worse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just as the chapter title suggests, it gets worse.
> 
> WARNINGS: A DOG DIES IN THIS CHAPTER. IT IS GORY AND GROSS.

“RPD! Open the door!”

_Bang bang bang. _Holt’s hand was almost numb for how hard she was slamming it against the door.

“Dr. Vargas!”

_Bang bang bang. _At this point she was going to have two injured hands…

Just as she was considering kicking the door with her standard police-issue boots, a harried-looking older man with wispy white hair and crooked glasses flung open the door.

“Officer Holt! What is the meaning of-“

“Dr. Vargas, we need you to come with us. There’s an emergency at the kennels.”

“Very well, but I would like to remind you that it _ is _after hours, and my rates will reflect thusly!”

* * *

“I’ve never seen anything like this…”

Vaan, the first dog to have been infected by whatever this madness was, thrashed and snarled even as it was restrained on the examination table. Frothy spittle and blood sprayed from the thick muzzle secured over its snout, eyes wildly dilated with a sheen of cloudiness giving an appearance of blindness.

“This is no form of rabies I’ve ever seen.”

“Oh, god,” Tyson whispered, sounding as if he were going to be sick. “Doc… look at this.”

He moved his hand from where it had been resting lightly against the dog’s neck - an attempt to offer some sort of comfort, probably - to show what it was that had prompted him to speak.

At first Holt assumed that he was holding a clump of the dog’s hair. Concerning, no doubt, but nothing to get _ too _worked up over.

But no. That wasn’t it at all.

_It was a strip of the dog’s actual flesh._

“What the…”

“Did you pull that off?” the veterinarian questioned, leaning closer to inspect the site of removal.

“No, I- it just came off!”

Dr. Vargas prodded at the open wound - that somehow didn’t bleed profusely as it should have - and all three inhabitants of the room collectively stepped away as another portion of the beast’s skin sloughed off onto the tabletop with a sick _ slap._

“I don’t know what this is,” said the doctor. “The only course of action I can suggest at this point is euthanasia.”

“What?” Poor Tyson looked absolutely heartbroken by the news. Holt didn’t blame him. After working with a dog for so long, it was common for handlers to get attached. She’d seen it many times before when in the military.

“It will end his suffering,” Vargas assured the distraught man, already reaching for the case of medical supplies he’d brought along. “It is your choice whether you’d like to stay or leave the room.”

He pulled a syringe from the case, along with a small glass bottle of some sort of liquid. Holt had seen this before; Tyson had not.

“Wh-what is that?” The kid was absolutely green.

“Pentobarbital,” replied the doctor as he prepared the syringe. “Commonly used as a seizure medication, but in large doses it is lethal.”

Tyson was crying now. Dr. Vargas eyed him with a look halfway between pity and disgust before turning to Holt.

“Officer, help me hold his leg still.”

She cast one last glance at her companion before moving to do so, only minorly surprised to notice when Tyson’s hands settled back on the dog’s neck near where they had been before. With a slight, supportive smile in his direction, she turned back toward the doctor to watch as he injected the drug into Vaan’s vein.

It only took two minutes for the dog’s thrashing to slow and then stop, labored breathing quieting until there was no movement left.

The two minutes felt like a lifetime. All three of them were quiet, save for the stifled sobs coming from Tyson.

“Come on,” offered Holt, a steadying hand on his arm. “Dr. Vargas will take care of the rest.”

Tyson could only nod, allowing her to lead him from the room and to a nearby chair where he slumped down and buried his face in his hands. Holt stood a respectful distance away, arms crossed as she watched through the sliver of window she could still see into the room they’d just left. The doctor was moving around, undoing the restraints that had kept the canine still and removing the muzzle.

Not that any of those were necessary, now. In the span of an hour they’d lost one, maybe two dogs if Brig’s condition had deteriorated as quickly as Vaan’s. They’d need the doctor to take a look at her, too, before he left.

_This whole situation is fucked _, she thought.

If only she’d known it was just the beginning.

* * *

A loud thump startled Holt out of her thoughts. She glanced back towards the door she and Tyson had just come through; the doctor was nowhere in sight, and neither was the dog. Perhaps he had just moved it’s corpse? That could have accounted for the noise.

The scream told her she was wrong.

Jumping forward, hand on her weapon, she tried to push the door open but it met with resistance. Had the doctor fallen on the other side?

“Dr. Vargas!” she shouted, trying the door again. When the door just barely cracked open, she could finally hear a sound she knew all too well - the sound of a dog attacking.

_No fucking way_.

“Tyson! Call a medic!” she shouted at the baffled man seated behind her, who didn’t move an inch as he stared at her in shock. “Now!”

That got him moving. Turning back to the door, she offered a silent apology to who or whatever was on the other side and slammed her shoulder into it with all of her weight.

Finally the door swung open, and she was able to get a good look at the situation. The doctor was on the ground, cowering, bloody, his arms held up to keep his attacker at bay as he shrieked in agony.

The attacker? The very dog they had just euthanized.

_Fuck_.

“Vaan! Out!” she cried, hoping that maybe the familiar command would trigger something in the dog’s brain.

It didn’t.

“_Fuck! _”

Holt drew her weapon, but she couldn’t get a clear shot with the beast on top of the doctor. Not without risking shooting him.

Gritting her teeth, she raised her leg and kicked as hard as she could, hoping her high school soccer days hadn’t completely left her.

The kick connected well. Vaan went flying a few feet back, rolling as it landed on its side, but was almost immediately back on its feet and lunging back towards the now silent man on the ground. It was just the opening she needed, however; aiming quickly, she pulled the trigger twice.

Two bullets impacted - one in the shoulder, one in the center of its forehead. Finally, and hopefully for good, the canine fell still.

The final silence was almost deafening. Keeping her weapon ready and the dog in her sights, she crouched by the side of the motionless doctor and fumbled a bit to search for a pulse.

Her fingers came away slick with blood, no heartbeat found.

_Fuck._

This day just kept getting better.

* * *

“Hey Kim, I tried upstairs at the station but they’re busy-“

Tyson’s voice cut off sharply as he entered the room. Holt didn’t even bother looking at him as she searched through the doctor’s bag of medical supplies.

“If you’re going to be sick, do it in the trash can.”

She heard the door shut behind her, and then the muffled sound of retching from the other side. Shutting that out, she continued her search until she found the bottle Dr. Vargas had used to prep the syringe.

_Pentobarbital. _So the doctor hadn’t made a mistake then. But how had Vaan survived the euthanasia?

The door opened again, showing Tyson’s sweat-drenched face. He was very obviously trying not to look down at the massacre at his feet.

“Th-the station said they can’t spare anyone, they’re dealing with… ughhh…” He turned his face away, a hand over his mouth as he fought the urge to heave again. “They said there’s been some sort of outbreak… they’re dealing with rioters and… i-it looked like chaos up there.”


End file.
